Two German Couriers
by Mr. Crash
Summary: Yesterday they were just two German clerks. Today they're...the honored dead.


Two German Couriers By Mr. Crash

Chapter One: Oran

The air was hot and thick. The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone with an oppressive intensity. The heavy smell of sweat and anger filled the air. Blowing in from the north was a stiff breeze that gave no relief from the midday sun, but did bring with it the strong smell of saltwater. The streets were filled with movement, as Frenchmen, Germans, native Africans and a few British spies hurried themselves from place to place. The general atmosphere was exceptionally tense; all in Oran knew that at any moment, a brawl, or a gunfight, or worse could break out amongst the mixed nationalities.

The city of Oran was divided into two parts: the harbor, and everything else. The blast of a horn sounded, signifying that yet another ship had come to rest upon the docks of Oran. This latest ship carried the swastika of the Third Reich painted on its side.

Felix Zimmermann and Niklas Bauer stepped from the ship, onto the extended landing, and then onto the dock. They had finally arrived.

Felix was a tall man, clean shaven, dark hair, and a gentle gleam in his eyes. He breathed deep. To one who had just been sampling the crisp air of the Alps, the air of Oran might've seemed to stink, to fill his lungs with foulness. Not so Felix; after nearly a week on that claustrophobic boat, fresh air, even this poor stuff that passed for air here in Oran, was like a sweet song to him. A German clerk, he had come to Oran for an upcoming assignment; he was to transport some object, yet unknown to him, to Casablanca, in the French Morroco. He regarded it with mixed feelings. He enjoyed being able to leave Germany and Europe and travel abroad, but at the same time, he wished to return to familiar settings.

Niklas Bauer was a man of stocky build, with an unkempt beard, dirty blond hair, and a dangerous twinge in his eye. He took a breath, coughed, and spat the disgusting Oran air from his lungs. It revolted him. He had always been a man of the sea, and much perfered the dense air from his cabin to this filthy, gaseous thing he now found hanging about Oran. A German clerk, he had come to Oran for an upcoming assignment; he was to transport some object, yet unknown to him, to Casablanca, in the French Morroco. He much looked forward to it. To him, these assignments were exciting; they held the promise of the unknown to him, and the chance to see more of this great and fascinating world.

Both men had red bands wrapped around their right bicep. Each band was imprinted with the image of the the Third Reich.

Each man had left their luggage upon the ship. The boat would be docked for days; and since neither had prearranged a place to stay, there was no sense toting around one's belongings until one had a place to put them to stay.

Neither man knew who the other was. Not yet.

Each man, through circumstance, made his way to the hotel nearest to the harbor: the Hotel du le Marin. Each man checked into his room, and, after retrieving his luggage, each man made his way to the local German communication station.

The station was small: a one-story building with a front desk, a waiting area with a half-dozen scattered tables and chairs, and a few back offices. The station had been designed for recieving orders from Germany and Occupied France. And, occasionally, a parcel or package might arrive; in that instance, a German courier would transport it to whatever destination was assigned for it.

Felix picked his way through the crowded room and approached the front desk. He exchanged quick words with the tall German working the counter, informing him who he was, and that he was to pick up an object, yet unidentified, that was intended for Casablanca.

-Yes, we do have a package somewhere in the back rooms, he said. Identification?

Felix produced a few documents that proved his identidy.

-Ah, yes sir. Felix Zimmermann. Just as it says here on my forms. Well, yes sir, it'll be out in just a few moments. Please wait in the common room.

Felix made his way to the only available seating: a bench that was occupied by a well-built man of dirty blond hair. He slumped into the empty seat.

He tapped nervously on his knees. He hated waiting.

The man to his left noticed his anxiousness. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a fine, silver cigarette case. He opened it and proffered it to Felix.

-Cigarette?

-Why yes, thank you. He removed one.

The as yet unidentified man took one for himself and placed it between his lips. He then dug in his pants pockets and produced a pack of matches. He removed two, struck them simultaneously, and handed one to Felix. Zimmermann accepted it with thanks.

The two Germans sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying their smokes.

-What's your name, friend?

-Felix Zimmermann. Yourself?

-Niklas Bauer. He paused. So what's your business here?

-Transportation. I'm acting as a courier.

Bauer raised his eyebrows. Truly?

-Oh, yes. Can't stand the blasted business. I'd much rather be back in Berlin.

Here Bauer smiled. Ah, nothing beats the Motherland. He paused. Where are you headed?

-Casablanca.

Here Bauer gave an incredulous laugh. Why, so am I! I have to transport an object to Casablanca as well. I suppose we're on duty together. He extended a hand. Felix shook it.

They both heard a call from the front desk. Zimmermann, Bauer. Zimmermann, Bauer. They stood.

-Here you are, sirs. The clerk handed a small package to Felix. It was wrapped in brown paper, and about the size of large book. Felix accepted it, and indicated to Niklas that they should go sit down and discover for themselves what it was they would be trasporting.

They sat down at a now-vacant table. Felix tore open the package. Inside was a smaller package, several pieces of paper, and an unmarked envelope. The leading piece of paper contained several instructions on it; Felix read in silence.

-Well? asked Niklas. What's our cargo?

-It says here, he responded, indicating the paper, that in here, he continued, pointing at the smaller box, there are two letters of transit signed by General DeGaulle. He continued reading and then looked up. Completely unquestionable; anyone possessing the letters can enter Lisbon from Casablanca with no trouble. Here a puzzled look came upon Niklas' face.

-General DeGaulle? I don't understand. If they're signed by DeGaulle, how do they have any use to us? DuGalle has fled to Britain! How would the authorization of a disgraced French general have any effect on a German soldier?

-Think! Felix implored. Refugees aren't allowed into Portugal. Anyone of any nationality is being turned away from Portugese borders. They don't want their country filling up with foreign refugees seeking to escape the reach of the Reich. However, with these, a person could enter the country.

-And to what purpose would a German be sent there?

Felix shrugged. Who knows? Ours is not to question. He took a drag on his cigarette.

-There are additional orders here. Apparently, these letters would be worth a small fortune to some who live in Casablanca. He began to read aloud from the paper.

-'It is imperative that you two are not discovered. To conceal your identities, you will not be transported by train, or by plane, or by any other official method. To do so would tip your hand by indicating that you possess something of great value. In order to remain hidden, it would be best if you were never suspected at all. You will travel by horseback to Casablanca. None will ever even guess that you are transporting something of great value.'

Felix paused, then continued reading. 'You will find enclosed in the envelope 20,000 francs. They will help pay any expenses you incur on your journey. They will also afford you the opportunity to purchase fine horses and supplies. Concealed within the package are the letters. DO NOT OPEN THE PACKAGE. Leave it closed, hidden, and safe.

'Once you reach Casablanca, find Captain Louis Renault, prefect of police in Casablanca. Give the letters to him and him alone. You will be handsomely rewarded upon completion of this assignment, along with the glory and honor in having served the Third Reich.'

There was a heavy silence between the two men. Neither had known, ever, the weight of their mission, nor had either ever taken on something of this degree. Many people would be willing to kill them for the letters; the information Felix had just read alound testified to that. They would need to be careful if they were to survive their travel through the unoccupied desert.

-Come, said Felix. We should buy our supplies today, then leave, first thing tomorrow morning.

-An excellent idea. The two men rose from the table. I suppose, Niklas continued, that we should just buy our supplies separately. Here, give me 10,000 francs. I'll buy my horse and food and water, and I'll be ready to meet you in the morning.

-Certainly. I'm staying in Room 317 of the Hotel du le Marin.

-Why, I'm just down the hall from you. Room 310.

-Wonderful. I'll meet you at the gates of the city tomorrow at six o'clock. The two men shook hands, then went their separate ways. 


End file.
